


Cold

by Kalicdeception



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: I dont know how long thisll be, M/M, i plan on maybe making it happy though, its super angsty though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:09:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalicdeception/pseuds/Kalicdeception
Summary: Sort of alternate to season 4He rubs his face, trying to sort through his messy brain. It’s cold. He stands up, grabbing his glass. “I’m not talking about Sherlock Holmes.” He says stiffly walking out of the room. Another glass of whiskey, great. I’m worse than Harry. Turning around, he jumps seeing Mary leaning against the counter.“It’s ok to miss him,” she says softly. “I know you are mine, you don’t have to worry about me getting jealous of Sherlock.” She laughs lightly. “We’ve been married for nearly a year, I’m not worried about him, I never was.”“We were never together,” he says a little too quickly. Maybe there was a window open, it’s cold.





	

 

Cold. Cold. He’s cold. He hasn’t been this cold in a while, not since the two years he thought Sherlock was dead. He knew how to heat himself up. He knew how to melt away the ice that seems to be coating him. His twitching hand rubs my face. He took the last drink of whiskey. Looking at the empty glass, sighing to himself. _I guess drinking problems ran in the family._

He shook his head to himself. He was still cold. He patted his pants pocket. There was a lighter in there. _Good to know._

“John?” Mary entered the room. He gave her a fake warm smile. “I don’t have work today, want to go out?” She stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

He looked at the clock, it was early. The green glow of the numbers hurt his eyes. 10:35. “Oh, No, I am feeling ropey, don’t think I should.” He sits up a bit, giving her a small smile.

“I can smell the alcohol John you don’t have to hide that you’ve been drinking.” The wait of her sitting on the bed causes him to wobble. “I can stay in with you if you want to talk about things.”

He clears his throat. “There is nothing that needs to be talked about.” He tries to compose himself. He’s too cold. _We should light a fire, do we have a fireplace?_ His tired eyes look at her.

“There is something that we need to talk about. You’re drinking at 10:30, you haven’t been well for a while John. Is it Sherlock?”

His name makes John cringe. It's been months since he had even heard his name. He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about Sherlock Holmes.” Saying his full name disconnects him, he’s referring to him more formally. “This has nothing to do with him.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “John do you take me for a bloody fool. He and you haven’t spoken in almost a half year.” She places her hand on his shoulder, He’s too cold. “I know you miss him.”

He rubs his face, trying to sort through his messy brain. It’s cold. He stands up, grabbing his glass. “I’m not talking about Sherlock Holmes.” He says stiffly walking out of the room. Another glass of whiskey, great. _I’m worse than Harry._ Turning around, he jumps seeing Mary leaning against the counter.

“It’s ok to miss him,” she says softly. “I know you are mine, you don’t have to worry about me getting jealous of Sherlock.” She laughs lightly. “We’ve been married for nearly a year, I’m not worried about him, I never was.”

“We were never together,” he says a little too quickly. _Maybe there was a window open, it’s cold._

She tries to hold in a laugh. “I never said you were.” Her smile fades. There was a long pause and Mary looked down. She was hesitant. “But John, you aren’t a smoker.”

He froze. “What?” he hadn’t been smoking, what she talking about. _I should put my jumper on, it’s too cold._

“Why’d you buy that lighter, you don’t smoke.”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to light candles.” Candles and fires, fires, do we have a fireplace? It’s cold. His heart pumped blood quickly, but he is still cold. Cold. _Cold_. He takes a drink, some whiskey slipping onto the counter due to the shake of his hands.

“We don’t have candles.” She walked over to him.

“Fires then, we, we,” He began to stumble over his words, “we have a fireplace.” His brows furrow together, taking another messy drink of whiskey. “Where is our fireplace.” His hand slid down hesitating at his pocket.

She slid her hand down his arm, pushing his hand into his pocket. “We don’t have a fireplace, John.” She grabs the lighter, pushing it in his hand.

Her touch leaves a ghostly chill down his arm. _It’s cold. I’m cold. I need to be warm._ It’s too cold. “We need a fireplace, I use to have a fireplace, back on baker street I was never cold there.”

“Are you cold sweety?”

Her words swirled around him. He took another drink. The burning of the whiskey felt more like ice. Are you cold sweety? Are you cold? _I’m too cold. Too cold._ You know how you can warm yourself. You need to light the fire. _You need to be the fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. **Fire**._

Fire.

He blinked, breathing in the smell of burnt skin and hair. He was still cold, still cold. This wasn’t enough. He clenched his fist as his skin began to boil. He places the lighter down grabbing the first aid kit and properly took care of his burns, pulling a jumper over them.

“You feeling any warmer?”

Warmer, warmer, warmer. Was he warmer? His arms were at least, his shell, warm and burnt. He was still cold. His core was still, was frozen. _I don’t want to be cold anymore._ He reaches for his glass. Empty again. He shouldn’t get more, he was already too drunk. Imagine if someone were to show up? He’s too much of a mess to see anyone.

He cleared his throat. Standing, hand on his glass, he asks “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

“I believe Molly is coming over to drop off Rosie, you were having a bad night last night so you asked Molly to watch her. Remember?”

Rosie. How could he forget about his daughter? “Right, Right. She’s suppose to come this afternoon, right?” He needs to sober up before she comes. He let go of the glass.

“John, it is afternoon, she's supposed to show up anytime now.” Mary looked concerned at him.

His heart stops, he looks at the clock. 2:23pm.

_How did it get so late?_

He shivers.

There is a knock at the door.

He tries to compose himself. There is no use, she’ll be able to smell the alcohol on him. She’ll see his slight swaying. She won’t want to give Rosie back. It would be better if she kept her. Molly was great with Rosie. She would raise her better than he could any day.

He opens the door, hands shaking. Molly stood there. Her hair pulled back like usual. Rosie wasn’t with her. Her face was straight, cold, staring right into his frozen core. She looked him over, stepping into the house. She closed the door behind her. She wore a t-shirt and jeans. _She must be cold in that._

“Rosie is with my mum,” Molly said flatly, she turns around, anger blatantly on her face. “What the hell John?” She said a bit shaky.

John shifted. He’s cold. He tried to wrap his mind around what was going on. “Molly listen,”

“No, John, you listen. I love taking Rosie, she is a sweetheart. I also love helping out. You are my friend John but when this is happening every other night you need to do something, you need to talk to him.” He said.

“I don’t need him.” At this point, he was more trying to tell himself that than her. “Mary and I are fine without Sherlock.”

Molly pursed her lips, looking down. “Oh god,” she shook her head, breathing heavily. “John, Marys dead, she’s been dead for almost half a year.” She tries not to make eye contact

John’s head spins. He’s too cold. Mary was just here, he swore it. The day flashed through his head, though Mary wasn’t there. He's alone. He's been alone. He stumbles. His head spinning from the whiskey.

“John, you need to see him.” John heard slightly through the loudness of his brain. He couldn’t think. He, he couldn’t. He can’t talk to Sherlock, not now. “Come with me to baker street.” 

 


End file.
